


No Compliance

by gutterflower



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterflower/pseuds/gutterflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of writing about Misled, my ghoul OC.  </p><p>Just posting stuff up here as a way to better keep track of it.  Not sure how much I'll update this, or how many time skips will be involved.  To read more about Misled, check out her BestGhoulFriends wiki page <a href="http://bestghoulfriends.wikia.com/wiki/Misled">here</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> _It feels so dangerous_   
>  _I don’t know where you are_   
>  _You can’t control my every move_   
>  _Although you try so hard_
> 
>  
> 
> _Accept it, leave it_  
>  _Your wisdom doesn’t make me wise_  
>  _Accept it, leave it_  
>  _Your tears don’t make me cry_
> 
>  
> 
> _Ripped apart, lay me to waste_  
>  _I know your fears, I feel your pain_  
>  _Running away, through a spinning maze_  
>  _Running away, to the same escape_
> 
>  
> 
>  _No compliance, your boundaries suffocate_  
>  _My lungs are filled with poison in your cage_  
>  _Bruises and stains, no power left to stand_  
>  _You held me down, help me rise again_  
>  -Delain

Misled woke up to the sensation of someone shaking her.  Flashing lights made her head pound, the sound of sirens not helping in that regard.  How had she managed to sleep through all of that?

"C'mon, kid, we’re getting out of here!” the man who woke her yelled.  She rubbed her eyes, vision still blurry from sleep.  It was that collector.  What was going on?

She sat up, rubbing the back of her head.  Her fingers slipped down to her neck.  The collar… where was it?  She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt her neck without one.  Even when her skin was smooth, even before she was taken to this place, she had worn a collar.  She honestly felt naked without one. Was this a dream…?

She didn’t have time to really consider what was going on.  The man grabbed her arm, pulling her up.  There were others running down the hall - experiments that had been set free.  It finally clicked in her head that this was a jailbreak.  

“Where are the guards?” she asked.  

“That’s not important right now,” the collector told her.  "Just follow everyone else.“

She shook her head, pulling her arm out of his grasp.  

"I’ll destroy them all,” she told him, tone calm - as though she were merely commenting on the weather.  She started to walk in the opposite direction before he pulled her back.  

“Look - I’m not going to argue that this place needs to burn to the ground, but right now?  This is your only chance to get out.  Take it or leave it.”

She studied his expression, though most of it was hidden behind the aviators he wore. Wasn’t he one of the people who had brought her here?  While she could have thanked him for killing those who had kept her captive for so long, the pain of the experiments… a part of her wanted him to suffer as well.  Yet, he was setting her free.  Perhaps he was just a pawn in this game - the same as herself.  

She finally nodded, changing course to the the direction of the others.  She wanted so many people in this place to drown in their own blood, but she would have to leave that for another time.  She was hardly in any condition to take on the Enclave by herself, after all.  She would spare the collector for freeing her.  If she came across anyone else, however?  Well… they were fair game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mercy (the Collector) belongs to [Vectober](http://vectober.tumblr.com)  
> 


	2. Tricks of the Trade

Misled focused on controlling her breaths, trying not to make too much of a sound.  The air duct she was hiding in made it difficult, any little noise echoing throughout the metal walls. Below her slept her target. She knew nothing about the man other than his name. It didn’t matter to her why someone wanted him dead - she didn’t get paid to ask questions.

She sat and waited for hours until he finally shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back.  Perfect.  She carefully lowered a string from the vent until it hovered just above his mouth.  Lining it up perfectly, she applied drops of the poison to the top of the string, watching it trickle down to the bottom. He snored with his mouth open, making this far too easy.  The droplets fell from the string into his mouth.  He smacked his lips as the liquid hit his tongue, but didn’t rouse otherwise.  She quickly withdrew the string, wrapping it for disposal. 

Within minutes, his breathing ceased. She didn’t even need to check - there was no way he would have survived the dosage. She quietly crawled back the way she came, her job having finished.

As she exited the vent, she found herself face to face with a woman. She appeared to be in her twenties.  From what Misled had observed, this was the deceased’s lover.  Her contract called for the kill to be clean and quiet - no witnesses. She was to make it look as though he had simply had a heart attack in his sleep. This woman was a liability.  

Before she even had a chance to beg for her life, a needle was jabbed into the woman’s neck, poison injected.  She went limp as the venom coursed through her veins. Misled looked around.  This woman would be too heavy to drag out on her own. She spotted various cleaning solutions nearby. Abraxo was certainly a lifesaver… well, at least for Misled’s work life.  

She grabbed a large knife from the kitchen, setting to work. She didn’t even flinch as she cut the body into manageable pieces. She would have to take multiple trips, but the night was still young. Nobody had made a single sound, giving her the advantage.  After wrapping each part up neatly in parchment paper, she set to the task of cleaning the mess.  Nobody in this day and age would investigate further. If anything was even suspected, it would be that perhaps the man’s lover had killed him and fled town. 

She slipped out quietly, returning later for the rest. When everything was finished, there was not a single trace of any foul play.  Simply a man who apparently died in his sleep.  As she was about to leave for the final time, a cat alerted the assassin to its presence. It wore a collar around its neck, appearing to have been the victim’s pet.  Misled reached out and scratched behind the creature’s ears before leaving.  The animal had no ability to speak.  It was not a threat to her in the slightest.  No point in making an unnecessary kill.  

She disappeared into the night, just as quickly and quietly as she had arrived. Leave nothing, not even footprints.  Take nothing, only lives.


	3. The Choice

Sanctuary was perhaps the largest settlement Misled had ever seen in her life. This place was lined wall to wall with guards and turrets. Plenty of people wandered about the streets, shopping, chatting, building... it would have made her nervous if she didn't know how to turn it to her advantage.

The target was a one-armed ghoul named Reese Moore. She didn't question the fact that the contract had been signed by someone with the same last name. Details about why someone was wanted dead were usually not part of the agreement. She only pushed if she felt it would assist in the job - or if she disliked how it sounded. She had very few scruples when it came to her line of work, but she did still possess some.

There were only two details given to her of note. The first was that the target's body was to be returned to the contract holder - an odd request, but not something she tried to dwell much on. The second detail was that he had been a slaver. It was a detail that she didn't necessarily need for this job - something that had simply slipped out when her client approached her with the hit. Little did he realize that the small detail gave her even more motivation and drive. A slaver... a shame her client wished for a corpse. She would have taken joy in tying him up, setting him on fire, and listening to his screams as he was reduced to ashes. Some people just deserved to burn.

Normally, a job in such a busy place like Sanctuary would have been as simple as waiting until he was in a crowd, a quick knife to the back before anyone knew what was going on. Unfortunately, this was ineffective when the job required her to drag a body back to her benefactor. No, she would have to do this quietly. While the contract did not request that witnesses be eliminated, this place was too heavily guarded for her to simply kill him out in the open. She was fast, but she couldn't guarantee that she was _that_  fast. A burden such as a corpse - even if she did cut it into manageable pieces for transport - wasn't something she could quickly escape with. A place this large also meant further contracts could lead back here eventually. It was best not to make it impossible for her to return. She rather liked how easy it was to disappear in the bustle of activity. Getting to know her client's habits would be the best way to ensure the job was completed to perfection.

Finding him was easy enough. Even though the wasteland was a harsh, unforgiving place, there weren't too many non-feral ghouls walking around without an arm. Most who lost a limb that vital were not alive for much longer. Reese was considerably taller than her, making her ponder his weight. She would most likely have to resort to dismemberment to get him back. She sighed, not liking the idea of having to purchase a Brahmin for the return trip. Sure, she could easily persuade her client to compensate her for the cost, but Brahmin meant raiders. Raiders meant at least a week's delay after slaying them, tracking down their camp, and decimating it. The target would no doubt be rather ripe with that sort of timing. Still, it couldn't be helped...

Reese spent most of his time in the diner that overlooked the creek running across Sanctuary. He seemed to favor the second floor's outside patio, always keeping himself at a table that gave him the best view of the bridge. It was clear that he at least expected an attempt on his life. This would complicate things - a target paranoid of being murdered in his sleep was a target who would put up a fight. Even with one arm missing, she didn't dare underestimate his abilities. She couldn't have been the first sent after him, though she could guarantee she would be the last.

The diner was always busy, which was expected since it seemed to be the only place in town to get decent food and a drink. Misled was hard pressed to deny how much she enjoyed the meals there. Yes... this would most definitely be a place she would try to return to in the future. She made a mental note to turn down any offers to knock off the lead chef. It was rare to find someone with his set of culinary skills in the wasteland - it would almost be a crime against nature to kill him. Plus, a bar with this much activity? There certainly had to be a fair share of contracts getting passed around between drinks. She already saw plenty of bounties posted about, though those particular jobs weren't usually her thing. Her profession usually didn't have quite as much competition, and it paid much more handsomely. Who would have thought that knowing how to get in unseen and end someone's life without so much as a whimper was so highly sought in society? All she had to do was keep saving up until she could hire others to help her return to the Facility. From there... well.... she could only hope that the scientists who turned her into a monster would beg for mercy when she pulled them apart, bit by bit.

She shadowed her target for several days, noting the times he got up, left the apartments, worked, hung out at the diner, and returned for a night's sleep. One nuisance was how often he changed his schedule. It was never the same. Some days he was early to rise, others not so much. Some days he went to work, others he skipped altogether. Some days he would help out with the farm. Others, it was tinkering. If it hadn't already been obvious to her that he was trying to avoid a knife in the back, it certainly was now. He knew routine could lead to death. Smart boy. Too bad she was just as clever.

She waited until he left one morning before slipping into his room. His first mistake - not booby-trapping the lock. As she opened the door, a row of hanging cans clanked against each other. No explosion? No trigger-wire for a shotgun to the face? He was cautious, yes, but clearly was more scared than anything else. He didn't want to hurt anyone, otherwise he would rigged something a little more devastating. More traps around the apartment confirmed her suspicions. They were all set up with the intention to make noise rather than harm.

The revelation was a boon to Misled. It meant he was more prone to flee than to fight - or at least in a place where someone might become collateral damage. She had no such taboo. While she preferred to not take any more lives than were necessary for a job, she would do what it took to end him - especially knowing he was a slaving bastard. How ironic that he spent years destroying the lives of others, only to now have a turn of heart? Should have started sooner - it was too late for him now.

She confiscated the knife under his pillow, setting everything else back to the way it looked before. She locked the door from the inside, carefully placing herself inside his bathroom and waiting in the shadows. And wait she did - hours passed, the light from the bedroom window fading as the sun set. Her primary view was the bed across from the washroom. On top of the bed sat a toy duck - something that she found herself focusing on as time ticked by. Complete darkness eventually overtook the room, making it impossible for her to see much more than the outdoor lamp post trickling through the blinds. Still, she waited. As she started to hear movement outside the door, she quickly and quietly got into stance, a throwing knife at the ready. The door opened slowly, the sound of the cans jingling as her target passed by. He stopped before reaching her line of sight. What was he hesitating for? She had a perfect shot at the bed. He only needed to pass in front of it for her to strike out.

She listened, the faint sound of the cans being rustled again, and then... shit. She crept around the corner, only to discover what she had already suspected. He was taking off. Fuck this. She quickly darted into the hallway, finding him quietly moving toward the exit. She threw one of the knives at him, watching as he dodged it. He was much faster than she had anticipated. He looked at her, eyes wide with terror, before bolting down the stairs. She gave chase, reaching down and pulling another knife from her belt. She practically slid down the stairs, quickly taking another shot. It managed to hit his thigh, causing him to tumble to the lobby floor. He whimpered, scrambling to try and get up. She had him now.

"What the hell?!" a voice rang out. She glanced over, noticing a figure standing at the front entrance. The lights inside the lobby had been turned off for the night - an outdoor streetlamp being the only light source to illuminate his features. It was hard to tell much more other than the fact he was a tall ghoul with a hat and a pair of glasses equipped. She ignored him for now, unsheathing a larger knife with the intent of slitting Reese's throat.

Suddenly, something hit her from the side, slamming her against the wall. The blow dazed her for a few seconds before she regained her bearings. The man now stood between her and Reese. Great - some bystander trying to play 'savior'. If only he knew what kind of shit the one he protected had put others through.

"Back off," he warned her, removing his aviators and tucking them into his breast pocket. Reese began to crawl in the direction of the door. He was going to get away if she didn't do anything. The stance of the man in front of her made it clear that he wasn't going to let her pass easily. Fine - if he wanted to be a martyr, he could die like one. She held her knife tightly, keeping her balance before striking low. He quickly blocked her attack, pushing her arm out of the way. She slashed upward, only finding air, the stranger having stepped to her side.

"Last chance!" he cautioned again. She didn't even pause to consider his words, spinning around and bringing her knife towards his side. He pushed her arm away, lashing out with his other hand and striking her in the face with a fist. The blow almost knocked her off balance, but her stance kept her feet planted upright. She could taste blood in her mouth. He would pay for that...

"Fine - if you insist on dancing...!" he snorted a laugh, unsheathing a knife of his own.

She was used to having people fight back, but not people who actually seemed to know what they were doing. She continued to come at him, her strikes low and frantic in an attempt to slash open his stomach. He pushed her away with his free arm, keeping her from getting as close as she would have liked. She lashed out at his arm, furious as he dodged her. She had been doing this for decades, but she had been self-taught. Going up against an opponent who was more skilled at fighting and not afraid to hit back was new for her. She wouldn't admit it, but deep down there was a lingering emotion she had thought to be long dead - fear.

His counters seemed swift and clean - more like a dance compared to her frenzied style. His knife caught her arm at one point and slashed upward, the blade slicing through her right elbow. She hissed in pain, but didn't let it detour her. She had felt _much_  worse in her life, after all. She darted away from him, moving towards the door in an attempt at keeping Reese from escaping during the conflict. She could see her opponent's face more clearly here - specifically his eyes. Without the aviators, she could recognize his face. The shadowy details were still hard to make out, but the cap with the medical cross was unmistakable. Her eyes widened as she hesitated, an error that almost killed her. She tried to back up, having changed her mind about fighting him. His knife sliced through her upper chest, causing her to stumble backward, heel catching on the base of the door-frame. She landed painfully on the street outside.

She looked up, the man towering over her. His overall attire had changed through the years, but everything else? She didn't have a doubt in her mind now that she had an even clearer look. Misled had a very short list of people she felt she owed a life to. The Collector was one of them. It seemed almost humorous to her how she would have taken a life to repay him for setting her free, but now? It seemed perhaps she would be paying with her own life. Strange how things worked out sometimes.

And yet stranger still was the fact that he didn't kill her immediately. Instead, his eyes widened, a surprised expression settling across his face.

"You..." he said, voice barely above a whisper. "From the Facility...?"

Misled averted her gaze, not responding. So he recognized her after all this time? That didn't exactly surprise her. He had only passed by her holding cell on a daily basis for decades while the experiments had been performed on her, witnessing as her flesh fell apart bit by bit. She would almost be insulted if he didn't know who she was. Hell, he was part of the group that had brought her to that living nightmare to begin with.

She kept her mouth shut, even ignoring the fact that Reese was getting away, now having cleared the doorway and limping away as fast as he could. It would be the first time a target got away, but what was she to do? Another opportunity would show itself later... assuming she didn't die right here.

"Well, this is one way for the past to catch up to you," the Collector stated, raising his voice, his posture relaxing slightly. Misled finally looked up at him, eyebrow raised curiously.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" she asked, tone hard to decipher. It sounded more as though she were simply asking if he was going to take a trip to the post office rather than inquiring as to whether or not he intended to end her life. His answer came as a surprise to her.

"And kill another survivor?" he replied, appearing confused by her question. "No... it would be too much of a waste," he answered, shaking his head. "You've survived this long. You're not dying at the hand of a broken old medic, or those wounds, either. Now get up and get in here," he ordered, holding the door open in expectation.

She looked over, watching as her target hobbled down the road. She sighed, moving to get up. She maintained silence as she climbed the steps, passing by the Collector. He shut the door behind them, flipping on one of the nearby lamps and heading towards a series of couches that were set up in the recreational area of the lobby. He gestured to one sofa that had no doubt seen better days.

"I need to grab a kit," he informed her. "Please stay here for a moment. I mean it."

She nodded wordlessly, waiting until he was out of sight to take a seat. What was she doing? It wasn't as though she hadn't had worse injuries than this. The amount of caps resting on the head of her target was certainly worth pushing past pain and blood to obtain. She wasn't some obedient dog to be ordered to sit and stay in expectation of some treat. Being spoken to in such a manner was a good way to get on her bad side, and she had killed men for less. She scratched at her arm as she contemplated why she was fucking up her career by listening to this entity from her past.

The Collector returned, medical kit in hand. He walked over to a chair, pulling it up to the couch and taking a seat.

"Alright," he told her with a sigh, "I know saying 'relax - trust me' isn't gonna work, but I need you to remove the coat and shirt. I can't exactly wrap your wounds with that in the way."

His words made practical sense. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen her exposed in the past. Anyone who worked on the floor where her cell was located were familiar with her body, the Facility scientists not having given a damn about her privacy or dignity. At least he had good reason. While he rifled through the med-kit for antiseptic and gauze, she quietly shed her coat, pulling her shirt up over her head to allow him to dress her injuries. After freeing herself from the garments, she slid her hand over to her hip, ensuring that she had a solid grip on her knife - just in case. She had already trusted this man with plenty, but she wasn't one to take chances. Nobody touched her without her permission, after all.

She heard the medic make a low whistling sound as he set to work. It wasn't a noise of attraction - more of one that seemed to take notice of a serious wound. Perhaps it was her scars he took note of. She had certainly obtained more than just a few since he last saw her at the Facility. The antiseptic stung as the gauze touched her wounds. She gritted her teeth, but maintained her composure otherwise.

"Stay still," he ordered in a quiet tone as he took out a stimpak, removing the cap and flicking the needle a few times. How stupid did he take her for? She hadn't moved an inch so far. She felt a pinch as the needle pierced her flesh, but managed to not even flinch. She watched silently as he finished up the work. How much would he expect her to pay for this procedure? After the amount of cops he had cost her in letting her target get away, she hoped it wasn't much.

"You're all set," he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. Misled nodded, pulling her shirt back on. "I won't.... bog you down with questions," he told her, his expression just as neutral as hers as he crossed his legs, settling into a more comfortable position. "But.... it's nice to see a familiar face, for once."

She quietly reached for her coat, tugging it back around her. She was uncertain as to what to say to the doctor. She was grateful, but conveying emotion wasn't something she was particularly good at, neither was the concept of thanking someone in a genuine sense. She had words forced from her for so long - words she had to say to appease others: the slavers, the raiders, the Enclave scientists. Words that had no meaning to her, other than what they wanted to hear - what would keep them from lashing out at her. Now that she was free, she no longer owed anyone her words. Yet at this moment, she found herself in the odd predicament of _wanting_  to say something, only for her speech to falter. How did one genuinely convey gratitude in a way that was truly meaningful?

She didn't get a chance to figure out what needed to be said.

"Looks like you have a job now. Not a nice one either, by the looks of it," the Collector observed. This certainly caused her thoughts to stray. What did he know about 'nice jobs'? Was he not at one point employed to collect for the Enclave? If he only knew what her target had done to people like her. She stared at him for a moment before finally speaking.

"You should have let me kill him." she stated, tone calm - almost unsettling given the words that accompanied it.

"And why should I?" he retorted, his tone just as even. "All of us have done something or another worthy of being killed over. But I chose to defend him, instead of letting you kill him. Why do you think I did?"

His question angered her. Did he truly believe that the slaver was on the same level as himself? Reese had sentenced people to a fate worse than death all in the name of greed. The doctor, on the other hand, had risked his own life to save those who were trapped without hope - to free them from the hell that was the Facility.

"You were a pawn - nothing more," she explained. Her tone didn't change, but her eyes narrowed, seemingly betraying her otherwise neutral expression. "What he did deserves much worse than death." The doctor smiled, raising a brow.

"Now, who says I'm a pawn? Who says I'm more or less then that?" he questioned, appearing almost amused that he managed to get a rise out of the assassin. "How do you know, in absolutes, that he deserves worse then death? Do you know his full story? Do you even know mine?"

Misled contemplated the inquiry. What was with this guy and all of his questions? Did he honestly think she had given no thought about her own moral code? That she hadn't taken the time to even consider that perhaps she was wrong? Who the fuck did he think he was to interrogate her over this?

"Then perhaps the whole world deserves to burn," she finally replied, a tinge of irritability present in her tone.

"The world already burned," he noted, "And we're the ashes left over. At this point, we can only rise up from our shortcomings. I'm trying." Cycling a breath or two, he stood, packing up the kit. "It's... kinda funny," he hummed as he cleaned up the area, discarding the used supplies. "Ironic, even. I've seen no one who broke out that day for almost... what? Eighty years or so? And suddenly you show up, trying to stab an ex-slaver to death. And one who's only trying to repent, at that."

Misled tensed up, but bit her tongue, letting him continue.

"If I only had half the story, I would try to kill him too," he explained, looking over at her. "No remorse, no unjustly spilled blood. But knowing the whole story? That makes things much more complicated."

She averted her eyes, feeling heat rise to her face as she listened to his lecturing. She wanted so badly to shove the knife she held into his throat just to make him shut up. She knew doing so would be foolish on many levels - his skill aside, she knew she would regret it. Nobody had ever put her life first, _ever_. Even if she had just been some anonymous face he had grabbed in the fray, he still had done more for her in those few moments than anyone had in her entire life.

"That's the wonderful thing about being a doctor," he continued, "I have the honor and privilege to save lives. Sometimes with a stimpak, sometimes with a knife. And the entire time, I'm the one people spill their guts to- metaphorically speaking. Patient confidentiality. However," he added, "I've dealt with a lot of 'bad people' in my time. And sometimes people are pegged as something they're not."

".... and what do you suggest I do, then?" she asked, body tense, voice reflecting her exhaustion with the medic's preaching.

"Why would my suggestion matter?" he wondered. A question for a question.

Misled looked over at the doctor, her expression actually appearing baffled now. Was he intentionally trying to fuck with her head?

"I..." she started, seeming to lose her tongue for a moment. What did he want to hear? That she considered her life forfeit compared to his? That there were very few people she ever trusted in her life, yet he - a man she didn't know the name of - was one of them? If she had learned anything in her line of work, it was that pouring one's heart out exposed vulnerability. She refused to give him that. "... because you're clearly set on preventing me from doing my job," she answered. "Surely you have a better idea?"

He looked thoughtfully at her, eyes unfocused for a brief moment as he contemplated her response.

"How much was this job supposed to cost?" he finally inquired. More bloody questions. What business was it of his?

"Three thousand. Five if I returned with the corpse," she answered. Perhaps letting him know the amount would keep him from charging her? He nodded, furrowing his brow.

"... then call this job a failure. Say your target wasn't here when you arrived. You pursued him to the best of your abilities. He went south."

Misled's eyes widened, confusion coloring her expression. What was he suggesting?

"If you meet me at my clinic in the Slog, you'll have your five thousand caps. That a good enough deal for you?"

"And what guarantee do I have that you'll pay?" she wondered, caught off-guard by his offer.

"You alone can choose whether or not to take my word," he answered with a worn, morose smile. "I know for sure I can pay you, but are you willing to trust - even for a moment - that the man who let you free from that hell could possibly be any more kind out here in the real world compared to the seconds we met in that place?"

Misled didn't reply. It was as though he had gotten inside her head, and she wasn't sure how to cope with that. She had been so careful to make herself impossible to read, but now she doubted her own abilities. Who was this man?

"I'm never going to find redemption from the shit they made me do," he continued. "Every collector was just as much a test subject as the experiments themselves. I would know. I'm still.... dealing with the side effects." he sighed, tapping his hat as he leaned against a counter. "Three days. Meet me at the Slog. If you decide not to take me up on my offer, I won't stop you from here on out from your job. I just hope you'll reconsider."

She kept her eyes focused on her hands in front of her, not even giving him so much as an inkling that he had her attention. He eased off of the counter, moving to the door. She could hear it open, a cold breeze sweeping inside the lobby, causing her to tighten her grip on her coat. A crinkling sound was made as he removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, followed by the familiar hiss of a match igniting the phosphorous, the scent of smoke trailing to her nostrils. He didn't close the door at first, finally prompting her to glance up to see if he was still there. Indeed, he lingered in the doorway, inhaling the cigarette and letting smoke escape his lips before giving her one last thought to ponder on.

"I know for sure I didn't save your ass to become just as much of a killer as I was," he stated. "... but your life is not mine to dictate. Just like how it's not always your choice to destroy others. Just remember... caps are not always worth their pound of flesh, kid."

He turned, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone in the lobby. She looked back down, examining the knife in her hand. A choice. In one direction, more blood but the chance at revenge. In the other...

She stood up, tucking the blade into her belt before slipping outside. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, the air bitter and freezing. She exhaled, watching her breath dance in the air before vanishing. She had never truly been in charge of her own destiny - not like this.

 _"What a curious feeling,"_ she hummed silently to herself before heading in the direction of the Sanctuary bridge.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mercy (the Collector) belongs to [Vectober](http://vectober.tumblr.com)  
> Reese belongs to [Spacialkiwi](http://spacialkiwi.tumblr.com)


End file.
